by Wendy Mass
Ally’s notebook is filled with typical school assignment stuff, like vocabulary words and math problems. I flip to the last page, which is where I always write the list of guys I like in my school notebooks. I’m pleasantly surprised to see Ally has a list too! But a closer look tells me it isn’t a list of boys’ names at all. It’s a list of possible names for asteroids! This girl is hopeless! But at least she seems smart. And we’re going to need smart right now if our plans are going to work.
My stomach growls again. I check to see where Ally is in the line. You’d think being the owners’ daughter she could cut. That busload of people she was talking about must have just arrived because all these old people are walking around the pavilion in kind of a daze, looking crumpled and tired but with a skip in their step. I bet that’s what Melanie will look like when she gets old. The thought of getting old sends a shiver down my spine, even in the heat. Ally is finally near the front of the line, but she’s stuck talking to her dad and is ignoring the guy holding out the hamburgers to her. I’m tempted to hurry her along, but they look like they’re in a heated debate.
I’ll just have to start taking notes by myself. I open to a blank page and draw a line down the middle. On one side I write BREE’S PARENTS and on the other I write ALLY’S PARENTS. I can be a very organized person.
I stare at the empty page, not sure where to begin. Thankfully Ally comes back with the food.
“Sorry about that,” she says, her eyes red.
I’m already biting into the burger. Normally I’d take the bun off, but I don’t want Ally to comment. I suddenly stop in mid-chew. “Hey, this is a regular hamburger, right? It’s not some weird animal like a moose or a buffalo?”
“It’s not moose or a buffalo,” Ally says. “Why would you ask that? Does it taste bad? My dad hired a whole bunch of new people so we’ve never had anything like this before. If it tastes bad I’ll tell him.”
I take another bite and shake my head. Ally doesn’t make a move to eat hers. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I promise. I’ve just heard about people like you eating weird animals.”
“People like me? You mean people who live in the country?”
“Um, you don’t live in the country, Ally. You live in the WOODS. It’s very different.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.
I take another bite. It’s actually pretty good. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry. You know in a few weeks, if the meals aren’t good, it will be YOU who’ll be the one to tell someone.”
I stop mid-chew again. Suddenly I don’t feel hungry either. I pick up the pen. “Let’s get to work.” I show her the columns and ask what her family’s weaknesses are.
“Weaknesses?”
“Yeah, you know, fears, dreams, things like that. Things we can prey on.”
She sits back. “Well, Kenny is really into bugs. He likes studying them and hopes to discover a new breed. And you know my dream.”
I write:
Not many bugs in suburbia. Kenny’s dream will die.
Then under my own parents’ column I write:
Tons of bugs. Mom will freak. They are everywhere.
Back in Ally’s column:
Too much light near the city. Can’t see the stars. Ally’s dream will die.
She makes a little squeak. “How did you know that? About the light and the stars?”
“On the way up here my parents were ranting and raving about how amazing it’s going to be to see all the stars up here. How we’ll never believe it’s the same sky because there’s no light pollution.”
Her eyes fill again.
“Sorry, but we’ve gotta be ruthless here. We’re trying to make our parents feel guilty. Guilty and scared. And I’m thinking there are lots of things about your new life that we can scare them with.” I chew on the pen for a minute and then write:
DANGERS ALLY AND KENNY WILL FACE:
drugs
gangs
street crime
bullies at school
NEW EXPENSES:
cell phones
**whole new wardrobe**
allowance
lots of money for lessons
I turn the page toward Ally. “Anything else I should add?”
Ally’s expression is frozen. She looks horrified. “Drugs? Street crime?”
I put down the pen. It almost seems cruel to upset her, but she needs to know what she’s walking into. “Sorry, but that stuff is everywhere.”
“Not here!”
“Well, everywhere else. But don’t worry, Ally. You’ll be fine. My friend Claire’s dad once took a wrong turn and wound up in a really bad neighborhood. He thought these two guys were coming toward his car but it turned out they were just crossing the street. It was really scary. But he was fine.”
No response. Just more staring. Some people are hard to get through to. After a minute she jabs at the list and asks, “What lessons are you talking about?”
“Oh, you and Kenny will wind up taking lots of lessons and classes. Everyone does. Things like horseback riding, soccer, art, gymnastics, even Girl Scouts costs money. You’d make a great Girl Scout.”
“Aren’t Girl Scouts for, well, girls, not teenagers?”
“Oops. I keep forgetting you’re almost thirteen. Sorry!”
She groans and rests her head on the table.
“How about we move on to my parents?” I suggest. “What are some things that might scare them about living here?”
Through her hair she says, “Tell me something about them.” Or at least I think that’s what she says.
I’m so used to avoiding talking about my family that it takes a minute to gather my thoughts. “Well, you’ve met Melanie. She’s always happy and bouncy. Sometimes she’s more like a cartoon character than a kid. She gets really bad nightmares though, so that’s rough. She sleepwalks sometimes. And screams.”
Ally lifts her head and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Wow, that’s horrible. And it can be really dangerous out here if someone’s not paying attention to where they’re walking. I can’t smooth out EVERY root.”
My eyes light up even though I have no idea what she means about roots. I write:
Multiple nighttime hazards for Melanie. Will have to chain her to the bed.
Ally rolls her eyes. “Okay, and what about your parents?”
“They’re pretty much workaholics even though they don’t make much money. They’re both scientists. They got a grant to study something that’s supposed to take up a lot of space, you know, in outer space. Like almost all the universe is supposedly made out of it.”
Ally’s head snaps up. “Dark energy?”
I nod. I should have realized someone whose whole life revolves around waiting for the moon to cross paths with the sun might be familiar with it. “Something like that. Dark matter, not energy. Maybe it’s the same thing, I don’t know. I don’t really pay at-tention.”
“Your parents study one of the biggest mysteries of the universe and you don’t pay attention?”
“Hey, I have a life you know. I stay out of their way, and they stay out of mine.”
“Not for long,” she mutters.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that if our plan doesn’t work, you guys are going to be seeing an awful lot of each other. It’s pretty hard to stay out of anyone’s way here. There’s a lot to be done, and everyone has to work together to keep this place running.”
My mouth suddenly feels very dry. I take a swig of the lemonade Ally had brought with the burgers and write:
Must work very hard to run campground. Research will suffer.
“That’s a good one,” Ally says, finally getting into the spirit. “And you can say the electricity goes out a lot.”
Electricity not reliable. You will lose important computer data.
“And homeschooling is expensive. You have to pay for the materials, not like public schools,
which are free, right?”
I nod.
Will have to pay through the nose for your children’s education.
“Okay, what else?”
“Oh, I know!” Ally says after a few seconds. “You can tell them that sometimes an inmate from the prison on the other side of the lake escapes!”
I stare at her, wide-eyed, mind racing to every horror movie advertisement I’ve ever seen. None of them end well for the heroine.
“Just kidding,” Ally says with a note of triumph in her voice.
My heart slowly returns to its normal rate. She smiles for the first time since I’ve met her. “No inmates,” she says, “I swear. But there are bears. And the ghost of our dead cat, Galileo. And the occasional moose. And anything that you see flying around after dark isn’t a bird—it’s a bat. No buffalos though, so that should make you happy.”
I’m so relieved that I won’t be chased by knife-wielding murderers that I almost don’t hear her say the words bears and ghost and bat. Then it registers. I stand up and almost fall backward over the bench. “No way! No way am I living out here. This is crazy!”
“Calm down,” she says, grabbing hold of my arm. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. But you were trying to scare me, too.”
Reluctantly, I let her pull me back down. “Why are you so cheery all of a sudden? Cracking jokes, smiling. Are you, like, mentally unstable?”
She shakes her head. “No. At least I don’t think so. It’s just that while you were writing that last thing I realized something. We can’t move! Because once the word spreads that we had a potential alien signal—which happened this morning before you arrived— everyone will want to talk to my dad. He’ll be so busy traveling to conventions and being interviewed for magazine articles, that he won’t be ABLE to hold down another job. So even if our plans don’t work, we always have THAT to hold over them.”
I admire the kid’s enthusiasm, I really do. As a former cheerleader, I know what it takes to drum up enthusiasm when you’re having a bad day. But somehow I just can’t get too excited about her idea. “Um, I don’t mean to sound stupid, but how many other people are checking for these alien signals?”
Her smile sags a tiny bit. “Over five million people since the program started in 1999. From 128 countries.”
“And how many signals have turned out to be positive so far?”
Her smile fades a bit more. “Well, none.”
Neither of us says anything for a minute.
Finally I ask, “How about we focus on the plan?”
She nods, her smile now completely gone. I feel like I’m always bursting Ally’s bubble. It’s not like I ENJOY doing it. I really don’t. I’m about to tell her to forget what I said, that I’m sure her signal is “The One,” but she starts shooting out suggestions on how to put our plans into action, so I get busy writing them down. I’ve gotta hand it to her, she might not have much experience being devious, but the girl has good ideas. We’re so engrossed in our plans that when a tray crashes to the ground in the center of the pavilion we both jump. Everyone turns to look, just like in the school cafeteria. I crane my neck, but can’t see anyone.
“There’s a kid on the ground!” Ally says, jumping up. She runs toward where a crowd is forming. I swing my legs over the bench and run after her. The boy is about six years old and he’s just lying there. In fifth grade I saw a kid have a seizure in gym class, and at first I thought he was just trying to get out of climbing the rope. But the boy on the floor isn’t shaking or anything like that, just lying there with his eyelids fluttering. His parents are on either side of him, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Before I even think, I’m kneeling down next to him, stroking the kid’s hair and telling him it will be all right.
“I’ve got it,” a voice calls out above the crowd. I turn to see a pudgy kid about my age running toward the group. “I’m so sorry,” he tells the father as he reaches into a canvas bag and hands him a first-aid kit. The father hurriedly opens the box and pulls out what looks like a magic marker. Everyone watches in silence as he leans over the boy’s leg and jabs it against his thigh. Within seconds, literally, the boy is sitting up and asking what happened. His parents give him a hug and his mother starts to cry. The pudgy kid gives me a quick glance, then picks up the kit and puts it in the bag.
“He ate a peanut-butter cookie by mistake,” the father explains to the small crowd that still remains. “He’s usually so aware of what to avoid.” He looks around, probably for the pudgy boy, but he’s gone. I start to stand up when I see my parents and Ally gaping at me. I don’t want to have to explain why I flung myself to the rough cement floor to cradle the head of some strange boy. So I do the only thing I can think of.
I stand up, dust myself off, and run.
JACK
4
The box of licorice slips out of my hands and narrowly misses landing on my foot. “What do you mean she’s missing?���
Stella’s son jangles the change in his pocket impatiently. “I went to her room to get her for breakfast, and she wasn’t there. Simple as that. We looked in the lobby, in the breakfast room, the game room, the bus. My wife suggested you might have seen her, or maybe made plans for breakfast?”
A few thoughts jockey for position in my head, in an order I’m not proud of. First, there’s a game room at this motel? Second, I hope nothing bad happened to Stella, and the third and craziest—I wonder if this guy is my biological father? I used to wonder this whenever I’d meet a middle-aged man. I’d size him up against the headless pictures to see if there was a match. I quickly push the first and third thoughts away and focus on the second. “I haven’t seen her since we got off the bus yesterday,” I tell him. “But I’ll help you look.” I hurry out the door and close it, realizing a second too late that I left my room key inside.
“Here,” the guy says, handing me a business card. “Let’s split up. Call me on your cell if you find her.”
I glance down at the card. Greg Daniels, Certified Public Accountant. “I don’t have a cell,” I tell him.
“How can you not have a cell?”
“I’m thirteen. How many important calls do you think I get?”
He sizes me up. “My son’s thirteen. His phone doesn’t stop ringing.”
I stare at him, unable to find a response to that.
“Just call me if you find her,” he says, hurrying down the walkway.
Before rushing off anywhere, I decide to think like a detective. I rack my barely-functioning-on-three-hours’ sleep brain for anything Stella might have said that could help point me in the right direction. Nothing comes. What if she got confused and wandered off into the highway and was hit by a car? Or wandered into the fields behind the motel and was eaten by a mountain lion? Maybe she got hungry, went to breakfast, and her son just didn’t see her?
I follow signs to the restaurant, a small room off the lobby. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get some food in me that doesn’t have high fructose corn syrup as the first ingredient. The place is packed with hungry eclipse chasers, none of whom have seen Stella. David waves me over, and I don’t want to be rude so I join them. David’s son, Pete, talks a blue streak. In the time it takes me to wolf down three mini-blueberry muffins and a tall glass of orange juice (two minutes, twenty-six seconds according to the wall clock that I keep glancing at), Pete has brought up everything from the virtues of SpongeBob Squarepants to the magician he’s having at his sixth birthday party to whether or not chocolate should be considered a food group. I’m only half listening, because I’m thinking of more and more things that could befall a little old lady in a remote motel.
When Pete pauses to take a breath I explain I’m on a super-important mission and have to go. The bus is supposed to leave in only twenty minutes. Pete asks if he can come with me. I’m about to say no, I work alone, when his parents are, like, “Sure, go ahead. Just meet us back at the bus.” So off we go.
In the lobby we pass a poster of a smal
l garden. Pete reaches out a little finger and pokes the poster. “Green,” he says. I remember seeing the poster when we checked in last night, but now I look closer. The poster is advertising a small garden behind the motel, donated by the local gardening club. Suddenly a tiny thread of something Stella told me comes floating back. I ask at the front desk how to get there and the guy points us down a long hall and says, “Follow the signs to the garden. It ain’t much to see.” Pete and I hurry through the mazelike halls, stopping at each intersection to read the signs. Finally I push open a heavy door and smell fresh-cut grass.
There, standing on one leg with her arms held out in perfect balance, is Stella, in a yellow sweat suit, doing Tai Chi like she does every morning before breakfast. I’m hugely relieved to see her. I let the dark thoughts dissipate from my mind as she catches sight of me and smiles.
Only fifteen minutes left till we’re supposed to be on the bus, but I can’t make myself interrupt her. Pete and I sit on a concrete bench and wait. I keep glanc-ing at my watch—an old birthday present from SD3 before he left. I still haven’t packed. Stella gracefully goes from one pose to another almost like a dance. I never would have thought she could do that at her age. I sure can’t do it at mine. “Mr. Daniels—I mean—your son, is really worried about you,” I say when she makes a little bowing gesture and finally ends her routine. “He thought you had disappeared.”
“I was right here. He just didn’t think to look.”
“Does he know you do this each morning?”